<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Clock, It Keeps On Ticking by sanmyshuno</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972557">The Clock, It Keeps On Ticking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanmyshuno/pseuds/sanmyshuno'>sanmyshuno</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wideboys 99 Flake Remix [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(They're both adults. Ren is in his 20s and Hux is in his 30s), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Bottom Armitage Hux, But A Very Enthusiastic Relationship, Can You Have A Domestic When You’re ABSOLUTELY NOT Domestic, Daddy Dom Armitage Hux, Degradation, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Emotional Manipulation, Fighting, Grinding, How Do I Tag, Humiliation, I don't know, I think that's it - Freeform, Kissing, Kneeling, Kylo Is Called Ben and Ren, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is a Mess, Leg Humping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom Armitage Hux, Restraints, Rope Bondage, Rutting, Shoe Kink, Shotgunning, Shotgunning Cigar Smoke, Top Kylo Ren, Topping from the Bottom, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Humiliation, alternative universe, sub kylo ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:49:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanmyshuno/pseuds/sanmyshuno</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A twisting thought about whether or not the man who begs pretty-please with misty eyes for a chance to stay at Hux’s side or if the beast in front of him is the true Ben makes Hux’s heart surge in an unmatchable way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Ben Solo, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wideboys 99 Flake Remix [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Clock, It Keeps On Ticking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Presidential Alert: THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGG.</p><p>This took too long and I don't want to look at it again, RIP me.</p><p>Title from Mika’s “Ice Cream”. </p><p>Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>The Clock It Keeps On Ticking<br/><br/></p>
</blockquote><p>It was bigger than Hux thought it was. Between the similar dark woods, built-in bookcase and floor-to-ceiling windows. it looks close enough that Hux hasn’t left his office at all. The only difference, really, is that the furniture that Hux had moved up a storey<em> — to the very top — </em> looks slightly off in the just-a-bit too big room. Although, the question of what he should buy to fill in the bare shelf space is squashed by the fact that this <em> — everything — </em> is now finally <em> his.  </em></p><p>Brendol had stepped down from his role, ready to bask in the glory of his new life of cigars and visits to the country club, or whatever it is that he plans to do in his golden years that Hux doesn’t quite care for. Whatever golf course or smoking lounge Brendol plans to insert himself into means very little to Hux, who’s much going to prefer being an <em> actual </em>CEO than another face at a two martini brunch.</p><p>Phasma had moved up with him, occupying his side as his right-hand woman once more, as it should be, with a shiny new nameplate and business card to declare as such. She sits right outside the large double-doors, impossibly square-shouldered and gleaming with power — only second to Hux, himself. </p><p>Hux wanders around the room, taking in every sight before him, his suited chest puffed out in confidence. There’s a nameplate on his desk, shiny gold and heavy in his hand as he picks it up, admiring how nice the words <em>A. Hux, Chief Executive Officer </em>look together. He twirls the polished wood around in his hands, liking the heft of it. There’s a slight reflection on the plating and Hux stares down at himself, sharp eyes and stoic expression; since he was a child he’s always been told he looks more like his mother but, where age has softened her already delicate features, Hux continues to harden with age.</p><p>He replaces the nameplate on the desk, centred perfectly, and sits himself in his Eames office chair, crossing one leg over the other and wheeling himself underneath the desk. Hux squares his shoulders, sharkskin suited.</p><p>
  <em> Hux, Chief Executive Officer.  </em>
</p><p>Ren is, of course, there when Hux blearily opens the front door with Millicent trotting up to him for scritches behind the ear. Ren’s cooking dinner, something that looks like crumbled steaks browning in a pan. He’s gotten better at cooking in the last few months, a couple of ratty looking cookbooks sit on top of the microwave which Ren dips into every now and then. The fact that Ren knew his way around a kitchen, to begin with, was a shock to Hux, let alone being a half-decent cook; his stomach is always thankful at the end of work. </p><p>Hux has a shower before they eat together, the silence filled with Ren’s incessant carrying on about his day — which wasn’t anything particularly interesting, like usual, but after a whole day of talking at people, Hux doesn’t mind being talked at too much at the moment. “I talked to Rey today. She’s been wanting to hang out again soon. Me and her and her girlfriend Rose. Maybe you should come, too. Like a double date. Wouldn’t that be fun?”</p><p>It wouldn’t be and Hux’s mind wanders, letting Ren’s dribble fade off into the background. He barely manages to catch himself before he starts to smile into the rim of his wine glass. </p><p>After dinner, Ren joins Hux out on the porch as he cracks open his wooden box of cigars. There’s another surge of pride that flows through his body as he cuts the tip of one. Ren doesn’t smoke with him, but leans his head against Hux’s knee, breathing in Hux’s body wash and natural scent. There’s a stretch of silence between them as Hux puffs away, carding his fingers through the slightly tangled mop of dark hair.</p><p>There’s a pack of teenagers waking underneath the balcony and they cheer when one of them jumps high enough to smack a low hanging tree branch and Ren laughs softly, mostly to himself as he watches them. That sort of innocent teenage delinquency appeals to Ren, probably some sort of psychological deep-dive there that neither of them would want to address. Instead, Hux asks, “want a kiss?”</p><p>Ren looks up at him, wide-eyed, and one of his cheeks is a pinkish colour from being pressed against Hux’s knee. “Yeah,” he says, a little bit of confusion creeping in on his words since Hux doesn’t usually kiss outside of sex, “please” he adds, hoping the manners means Hux wouldn’t try and take back the offer.</p><p>Hux inhales a mouthful of smoke, raising Ren up to his knees with fingers cupped beneath Ren’s chin, who follows easily.  Hux catches his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, and Ren’s eyes fall closed, the press of Hux’s slightly dry lips feeling like the most important thing there is. The smoke flows into Ren’s mouth, gentle and smooth, and he clenches a fist into Hux’s shirt as he struggles not to pull away and cough.</p><p>Smoking has never been Ren’s thing, but now that’s his senses are clogged with the thick stench of cigar, knees digging harshly into the concrete as he kneels, statute-still, he could <em> almost </em>get used to it, shivering as Hux’s fingers knot themselves in Ren’s hair to pull them closer together.</p><p>His head and spinning and his lungs are starting to seize up, burning from the inside out, by the time Hux releases him. Ren crumbles to a mess at Hux’s feet, coughing and sputtering with tears pearling in the corners of his eyes as Hux smirks lightly above him, taking in another puff.</p><hr/><p>Hux doesn’t have much in the way of sex toys, much preferring to wreck his partner with his own hand, shiver under his touch rather than something else. There’s a solitary vibe which he owns entirely for himself — a black silicone thing he uses when there’s no one to fuck him, but it rarely makes an appearance, the desire not usually strong enough to give in to a battery-operated plaything. A blindfold sits abandoned, purchased on impulse but he didn’t care for it, unable to see the tears shining in their eyes. There’s a paddle that ended up who-knows-where, the expensive leather unable to hold a flame to the sting on his own palm as he’d rain down blows. There are a few other pieces, nondescript and largely uninteresting to him, purchased with particular men in mind, but ultimately didn’t live up to his expectations. </p><p>The only item — items, really — that get frequent use is rope. The feel, the art, the control. He loves everything about it. In the past, he’s tied men up just because, neither he nor they cumming in the end. He doesn’t know if he can thank Poe for much, honestly, but him introducing Hux to rigging is definitely number one.</p><p>The rope, this time, is a deep burgundy colour and matches the cheek-to-chest flush on Ren’s skin wonderfully. Hux is methodical with his work, twisting and tying off the rope, allowing the right amount of movement while still keeping Ren’s tree-trunk limbs steady and bound. Ren hasn’t said much since Hux had told him to strip and kneel, bringing out the rope and watching as Ren’s breath hitches, a beautiful tenseness overcoming his body. </p><p>Occasionally Ren’s arms strain the Knothead Nylon and fingers twitch in the box-tied rope, but he’s well-behaved so Hux rewards him with a chaste kiss to the temple and Ren preens at the affection. So little still goes so far, even after all this time and it’s such a beautiful thing.</p><p>By the time he’s finished with the simple ropework, Hux is slightly preening himself, high and mighty and staring down at a bound Ren, who doesn’t try to make eye contact with his chin pressed to chest.  Hux walks around him once, twice, trailing a finger across his shoulders. This is the first time he’s done anything more than honour bondage with Ren and, by looks alone, it hasn’t disappointed. </p><p>There’s a grey wingback that usually lives in the corner by the dresser which Hux had Ren pick up — <em> and not drag </em>— to the centre of the room. He sits in it, one leg crossed over the other. At the start, he had shucked off his jacket to roll up his shirtsleeves and Ren tries very hard not to stare too openly at Hux’s arms. Instead, he gawks at Hux’s feet.</p><p>“Do you like them?” Hux asks, following Ren’s gaze to his shoes.</p><p>They’re loafers, nice ones. Genuine black leather and gold detailing — horsebit at the front and intricate gold-stamped braiding down the heel — with a suede saddle. Expressive, obnoxious, expensive. An unnecessarily extravagant thing to drop his money on, but he can splurge every once in a while, especially seeing how well they go with his suit — a subtle black and navy pinstripe, the jacket thrown over the shoulders of the armchair.  </p><p>It takes a moment for Ren to find his words, “I do”. They’re not Ren’s taste, not compared to his beat-up Docs and scuffed vans, but he’s mostly interested in agreeing to agree, which is a different kind of victory to Hux. </p><p>“Would you like a closer look?” Hux asks, pointing a toe out a little closer. Ren swallows a bobbing of his throat and waits a moment before nodding. “Then come closer”. </p><p>There’s a second when Ren goes to struggle to his feet to walk the distance but stops himself without being told, knee-walking the way there instead. Hux can’t wait to see the carpet burn on his knees later from the awkward shuffling.</p><p>Ren continues to stare at the loafers. “Nice, aren’t they?” Hux asks but doesn’t wait for a reply, tap-tapping the toe against Ren’s downturn cheek, “better than what you usually wear”.</p><p>“That’s not true,” Ren says, kissing the sole of the shoe. They’re fresh out of the box and their flawless bottom hasn’t touched pavement yet. And he’s not wrong, while everything looks like it’s ten years old and pulled from a common person’s wardrobe, most of Ren’s stuff is just either well-worn or purposefully ragged. Nice clothes, poor upkeep. </p><p>“You look like you shop at Target,” Hux says.</p><p>“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ren replies, laying his gross face against the perfect leather, “Target is <em> good </em>”.</p><p>Hux hmms, “no it’s not”.</p><p>Ren smiles against Hux’s ankle and peers up through untied hair, “I don’t think you’ve ever been to a Target before”.</p><p>“I have,” Hux disagrees, “I was looking for dinnerware,” he adds like it means anything to the conversation. He does a mini-kick to bounce Ren’s lax head loosely, “kiss it again,” he demands and Ren kisses the toe. He kisses up the length of the shoe, licking the metal horsebit and no doubt cringing at the taste of it. There’s a small seam between suede saddle and shiny leather and he licks along the edge of it. His wide, wet tongue makes him look like a dog. “Stop it, Ben. You’re getting spit all over my shoes”.</p><p>Ren pulls away with a whine low in his throat, either due to the loss of contact or the chiding. Hux doesn’t particularly care which one it is as he uncrosses his legs, letting them fall wide-opened and look more obscure than he intended to. Ren whines again. </p><p>There’s been a tightness in Hux’s trousers since he started looping the rope around Ren’s wide chest and thick arms. His belt is black — a perfect match for the loafers — and he unbuckles it, letting it lie open against his lap without bothering to pull it from the belt loops. Tugging at the little button and zipper of his pinstriped pants, he pulls them, and his underwear, down far enough to pull out his cock — hard and hot in his palm.</p><p>Beneath him, Ren eyes his cock hungrily, no doubt wanting to wrap his pillowy lips around it. Hux tips Ren’s face up with the toe of his loafer, slightly parted lips and pinched eyebrows as he slowly fists his cock. Ren shuffles awkwardly and he’s hard, red-tipped cock bobbing in desperation. Hux smirks, looking down at him, “How are you feeling, Ben?”</p><p>“I want you,” Ren replies, voice already sounding like it’s wrecked.</p><p>“You’ve got me,” Hux says, tone almost kind, “I’m right here”.</p><p>“No,” Ren whines, “I <em> want </em>you. I want your dick. Wanna suck you”.</p><p>Hux swipes a thumb over the sensitive tip, a slightly dramatised groan coming from his throat. There’s only the slightest beading of precum to help the slide and it doesn’t do much to, but it’s better than nothing as he strokes himself. Ren stares with wide eyes, unbashful, with hitched gasps caught in his throat as he thrusts up into nothing. “And what if I don’t want you to? What if I wanted you to just <em> watch </em>. Get off to what a gorgeous thing you look like when you’re all tied up. Big and immobilised,” Hux kicks him in the shoulder, not enough to make him topple, but enough to sway him without his arms to help him balance, “see? Isn’t this wonderful?” </p><p>“But wouldn’t it be better if I blew you?” Ren asks, “you could fuck my face”. </p><p>Hux <em> hmm </em> s as he continues to stroke himself, “no, Ben. You’re going to sit there and be quiet and be <em> good </em>. And, if you are good, then I’ll let you cum, okay?”</p><p>Ren bites the inside of his cheek to the point of <em> almost </em>breaking the flesh. He nods, “okay”. </p><p>Hux starts slow, letting his eyes fall shut as he focuses on his own pleasure, the motion starting to become slicker. He brushes against the slit on upwards strokes, fingers teasing his frenulum lightly, sometimes a hand reaches down to massage his balls, all pulling deep sighs and moans from him. </p><p>He’s distracted by himself, so caught up in his own pleasure he almost forgets about Ren below him, who’s whines and heavy breathing are <em> almost </em>being drowned out by the slick sound of Hux working himself and the pleasured sounds he’s making. </p><p>It’s been a while since he’s gotten off solo, Ren always so eager to help, but he’s never really grown out of the virgin-clumsy <em> quicker and harder is better </em>when Hux lets him take a little more control and, sometimes, he craves an experienced hand — his nimble fingers understanding how he likes it more than Ren. Hux twists his hand around the dripping head, a loud breathy moan filling the space.</p><p>He barely managed to crack an eye, but he does and catches the tear-filled eyes of an adoring Ren, who’s cheeks are decorated with red flushes and tear tracks. His impressive arms are straining against the bounds and for a moment Hux is almost certain the rope is going to snap against the pressure. Between his legs, Ren’s cock is resting heavily, drooling wet at the time and looking painfully hard. But he’s being good — broad chest heaving and hands no doubt clenching behind his back, but not once do those eyes leave Hux’s hand as he jerks himself off, barely even blinking as he tries so hard to obey, no doubt seeking approval and the chance to cum.</p><p>Ren looks like a desperate mess and it pulls Hux closer to the edge than he was ready for so he steadies himself a little, hand slowing down as he regains his breath a little bit. “Do you like this?” he asks, breathing not entirely regular yet.</p><p>Nodding his head so fast it looks like he’s going to lose it, Ren agrees quickly, stumbling over his words, “I do, love it. Please cum, please. Love it, love it. Please”. He sounds mostly incoherent and Hux is certain Ren doesn’t know what he’s talking about, let alone begging for, either way, he pushes it.</p><p>“Liar,” he says, “you hate this. You’d prefer if it was you doing this. Your hand, your throat, on my cock instead. Take me all the way down,” he squeezes the base of his cock for emphasis, “choke on it, cry as you struggle to breathe until I cum down your throat”.</p><p>“Hux, please”.</p><p>The tightness in Hux’s stomach begins to coil and he speeds up his hand, most of the technique going out the window as he fucks up into his fist, toes curling in his expensive loafers, free hand digging into the arm of the wingback. His eyes practically roll back into his head and he moans, mouth hanging open as his cock sputters, cumming all over his fist, a little bit of it ending up on his shirt.</p><p>Hux opens and closes his eyes a couple of times, regulating his breathing. The cooling cum on his hand feels gross and his heart hasn’t entirely settled down, pounding a touch too fast against his ribcage. The red flush hasn’t left his cheeks, but his dilated pupils still look intense and like he hasn’t lost any control, even if his hair has kind of become a wrecked and out of place mess.</p><p>His smile isn’t as kind as it looks as he reaches out with his cum-covered hand and Ren opens his mouth, ready to taste Hux. Instead, Hux just wipes his hand over Ren’s face, smearing the cum in wet streaks almost everywhere except for Ren’s eager tongue. The cum and tears mix together in a shameful mess and a gut-punching wave of shame rolls over him as Ren’s cock twitches, still hard and painful looking. “Was I good?” he asks, eyes staring up, watery and hopeful, his tongue saliva-heavy. </p><p>Hux considers him as he tucks himself back inside of his pants, spent and happy. For a moment he thinks about leaving Ren there, bound and achingly hard with cum drying on his face, but he decides against it — a well-treated puppy is always more likely to lick it’s master’s hand, rather than bite it, he reasons. “Yes, Ben, you were,” Hux praises, “now come on, you can rub against my leg until you cum, doesn’t that sound nice?”</p><p>There’s not that much distance between Ren and Hux’s trousered leg, but he still almost plants his face right into the chair in his haste. There’s a slight chuckle above him and Ren looks up — Hux’s looking down at him and he’s resting his head against a fist, looking both parts bored and assumed, he raises an eyebrow: <em> go on </em>. He goes on and mounts the leg in front of him, breath choked off as his balls touch the cold metal of the gold horsebit.</p><p>Ren gives an experimental thrust of his hips, he rolls into the pinstriped leg. Electricity shoots through him and nearly cries with relief, the friction on his neglected cock almost too much after being left aching for too long. It’s a little hard to stay stable as he continues to rut up against Hux’s shin, wishing he had use of his hand to hold on better, to be able to touch and cradle and <em> worship </em>Hux.</p><p>Peering up through hazy eyes, Ren tries his best to make out the uninterest look on Hux’s face, whimpering and he would say something, do something, touch him, tell him his good. But it never comes and Ren still presses thankful kisses to whatever part of Hux he can reach, smothering the suit with sloppy kisses and cum. He speaks, he thinks he does anyway, the heaving sobs wracking his body making it hard to form sentences, lust-addled brain not working properly as the feeling of his orgasm begins to curl up inside him.</p><p>Saliva pools in his mouth and dribbles down the side of it, long strands of spit coming out to dampen the material of Hux’s slacks, soaking through until it’s dampness is felt by the skin of Hux’s leg. The tears and cum cake the pants as well, a mess of fluids ruining the expensive material. Ren was going to be punished for staining them, but, for now, all he can do is grind against the pressure on his cock, chasing his orgasm between heart-wrecking sobs. </p><p>It only takes a couple more thrusts against Hux’s leg, balls tightening against the pretty, expensive shoes and he’s cumming. It’s full-force and intense, the desperation behind it enough to knock him down, curled up, as he stares up at Hux, who looks unimpressed about the mess on his trousers.</p><p>Ren whimpers and closes his eyes.</p><hr/><p>They’re sitting together on the couch, a movie — Ren’s choice, some sort of B-rated nonsense filled with testosterone packed action heroes that Hux doesn’t really care for — playing while Hux has a book propped up in front of him, thick and well researched, but maybe the purple prose is a little too much because something about it is starting to disinterest him. </p><p>“Hey babe,” Ren says from below him, head resting on a throw cushion beside Hux’s thighs. He’s taken to calling Hux <em> babe </em>for the last couple months and any protests to try and get him to stop have fallen on deaf ears, like most things. </p><p>Hux marks the word his up to — <em> wreath </em>, italicised — with a finger, mostly just to be obnoxious, “yes, Ben?” he asks, because he can give as well as he can take.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking,” Ren says, voice trailing off as if he was expecting Hux to say something like <em> don’t hurt yourself </em>but continues when it doesn’t come, “how’d you know you were gay?” He peers up at Hux through his messy half-bun, eyes interested, the wrinkles on his forehead creasing.</p><p>Hux sighs to no one in particular — but mostly Ren — and bookmarks his page, oni mask hook bookmark that Phasma got him once from a trip from Japan, and setting it off on the coffee table. “Why do you ask?” </p><p>“I dunno,” Ren shrugs, “just wondering”.</p><p>Hux sighs again before playing with a few tufts of hair on Ren’s head for something to focus on. He should say no, he should get up and go, retreating to the safety of his office. He doesn’t, though, because he’s probably more stupid and weak than he would like, especially with a couple of glasses of nice wine in his system much too early in the day.</p><p>“Her name was Kaydel. I was fourteen and she had asked me on a date. Her family was well-to-do and I knew that would please my father so I agreed. We went to the cinema, I can’t remember what movie — I let her pick. She held my hand the entire time and it had become unbelievably sweaty. Afterwards, I waited with her until her mother showed up and she kissed me before getting into the car,” Hux explains.</p><p>“Oh,” Ren says, twirling a loose thread around, “I thought it was gonna be worse”.</p><p>Hux hums non-committedly, “what about you?”</p><p>“I think I always knew,” Ren shrugs, “it wasn’t until I was, like, in third grade or something that I had a crush on a girl. And I think I only did cuz she looked like her twin brother”. There’s a pause of silence between them before Ren asks, “what does he think?” peering up through messy hair.</p><p>“Hm?” Hux asks.</p><p>“Your dad,” Ren replies, “what does he think about you being gay? ‘Bout you bein’ with me?”</p><p>Hux worries a section of Ren’s hair between his fingers, and, for a moment, stares at the newly matted hair before finger-combing it back out. <em> Being with me </em>, Hux frowns at the words. “We don't talk about it much. He’s not happy about it but he’s resigned to the fact that it is what it is”.</p><p>“Does he want grandkids?” Ren asks and then wrinkles his nose, “my mum wants grandkids”.</p><p>“He does. To continue the Hux name, nothing more. I suppose adoption once I settle would be an option,” Hux says and he doesn’t understand why he mentioned the second half.</p><p>“You wouldn’t want children anyway,” Ren says so matter-of-factly.</p><p>“No,” Hux says with a quirk of his lips, “I don’t particularly”.</p><hr/><p>Hux was home again late, struggling through the front door on the later half of 11 PM. Millicent peers up from her spot on her cat tree, but doesn’t bother to come for attention and Hux doesn’t blame her. Reruns of <em> Space Ghost Coast to Coast </em> playing mutely on TV and the whole apartment feels eerie, like he should be a teenage girl in a horror movie; but he’s not so he just throws his suit jacket on the bench and eats his lavender chocolate. Ren’s awake for once, looking up from his phone with black-rimmed eyes, the underneath heavy with sleepless bags. He looks at Hux, unimpressed, before turning back to Zorak. </p><p>There’s a plate of honey mustard and rice on the bench and Hux doesn’t need to touch it to know it’s cold. He rolls his eyes at the pettiness attempt and pours himself a glass and wine, tipping a few shakes of trail mix into a bowl for dinner instead. He takes a Prozac and props a hip against the kitchen countertop, “you’re annoyed,” he says.</p><p>“You’re late,” Ren says to the TV. </p><p>“I was busy at work,” Hux replies, like he needs to explain himself, “had to finish writing reports”.</p><p>“You missed dinner,” Ren says.</p><p>Hux purses his lips in a barely-there show of annoyance, “I was busy at work,” he repeats himself. </p><p>Ren flicks off the TV and lumbers towards the kitchen, oafish feet dragging tiredly across the floor. He picks up the plate of chicken and wordlessly scrapes it into the bin before dumping it in the dishwasher, the clashing of dishware and pots echoing dramatically throughout the apartment. “You should’ve kept it for leftovers,” Hux offers, lifting himself onto a barstool across from Ren, who doesn’t look at him.</p><p>“Why? You don’t appreciate me,” Ren mumbles, “nothin’ I do”. </p><p>A sudden chill spikes down Hux’s spine, turning his blood ice-cold and, if he had any more colour to his pale skin, it would’ve drained. Ridiculous reaction.  Hux takes a sip and scoffs, “of course I <em> appreciate </em> you,” he says, adding weird emphasis to <em> appreciate </em>. It’s not an entire lie, he appreciates Ren in plenty of ways — his enthusiasm, his submission, his cock.  </p><p>Hux appreciates Ren, but his be-all and end-all doesn’t revolve around whether or not he has Ren’s approval. Because he doesn’t need it. Not like Ren, who’s constantly throwing himself at Hux’s feet, pleading for attention and doing whatever he can to gain some semblance of approval and love from Hux. He doesn’t need it, not from Ren, he doesn’t. He takes a sip of his<em> 2017 Justin Right Angle. </em> </p><p>“You need therapy,” Hux says, apropos of nothing, a kernel of fire growing in his stomach because he’s not not-annoyed. The words feel like betrayal in his mouth and it feels like they travel miles, losing all meaning and heat by the time they reach Ren, who looks up with a sceptical face.</p><p>“You need therapy,” he says, “and rehab”.</p><p>“Rehab?” he asks, swallowing a mouthful of wine, “for what?” He doesn’t bother challenging <em> therapy </em>, neither of them could. </p><p>“That!” Ren accuses, pointing a finger in Hux’s direction.</p><p>Hux frowns, half at his reflection in the glass and half at Ren, “I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re implying. A few glasses of wine isn’t an issue”.</p><p>“It’s not really the amount,” Ren argues, pulling the drawstrings of his hoodie in frustration, “it’s the mixing it with your Prozac and… <em> stuff </em>”.</p><p>There’s a pause of silence between them and, in a heaven-sent moment, Hux’s phone pings —  a message from Phasma starting with <em> I’m sorry to bother you right now, but… </em>and, on any other Friday night at what’s practically midnight, it would probably be a bother but Hux just downs the rest of his wine before standing from his seat, “business calls,” he says. </p><p>Hux can see a twitch of Ren's lip and a slight burning on the tips of his ears, “it’s always work with you”.</p><p>“I own a company, Ben. Of course, there’s always work to do,” Hux says and then mutters, “not that you’d know much about it,” because he’s allowed to be petty. Hux goes to his study, firing off a reply to Phasma as he hurries off, slamming — and locking — the door behind him. His wine and Ren are both left in the kitchen.</p><p>At some point, around 2 AM, Hux drags himself to bed, going through the motions until he’s finally tucked under the covers with Millicent curled up beside his head and, it’s only then, did he notice the space beside him was cold and empty.</p><p>He doesn’t dream that night or, if he did, he doesn’t remember it. He dresses in the morning, light linen, because today feels like comfort over presentation. A horrible feeling, really. Wandering into the kitchen, Millicent by his side, it takes Hux a moment for him to notice. Millicent is eating her breakfast — he has not yet served — the wine glass is missing — he left it there last night — and there’s a plastic wrap covered plate of what looks like an everything omelette — he didn’t cook that.</p><p>There’s no sounds outside of the ambient and the couch is undisturbed. Hux frowns. He pulls an artesian mug from the cupboard and makes himself a black tea, loose leaf, because he needs the brain work.</p><p>The apartment is quiet as Hux eats his reheated omelette, hearing the occasional car horn or Millicent’s bell. The quietness is eerie, a dead silence that makes Hux feel like he shouldn’t be there.</p><p>It wasn’t until after breakfast, as he’s stacking his plate and mug into the dishwasher beside a pan and a wine glass, did it finally hit him — he’s experienced this silence before, relished in it once, but has gotten so used to Ren’s presence that he’s forgotten what true loneliness feels like.</p><p>Hux breaks a rule and takes a smoke on the balcony, even though he’s already had his one for the month.</p><p>Later, he finds himself in the study again for the lack of somewhere else better to be. The smell of his <em> Fireside in Queenstown </em>candle and a vinyl playing in the background a slight comfort. He’s going through Emails, unimportant ones that he figured he would get around to eventually, their trivial nonsense perfect work for a messy head. There’s a plate of cheese and cucumber sandwiches and a mug of green tea at his elbow and the study door is opened for Millicent to come and go as she wishes.</p><p>There’s an orange glow being cast across the room as the sun sets, the sound of workers heading home echoing through the closed windows. It was beginning to get late and Ren still wasn’t — <em> home </em> — back. Ren didn’t even take his phone with him and it’s not like Hux is <em> concerned </em>for him, just worried he’s going to be the last person who’s seen Ren when he’s a wrecked corpse being pulled from a river or something because he got into trouble. He probably just ended up on Rey’s couch or something, Hux tries to reason with himself, but can’t stop the nagging feeling in his stomach.</p><p>Hux takes a sip of his tea and declines Niles Ferrier’s request for a raise. And then denies Jan Dodonna a meeting. He tells Firmus Piett that he can’t reschedule the meeting to the next day and, no, the overseas expansion is being put on hold for the moment. The seconds get away from him and the next moment he goes to sip his tea it’s cold and the sandwich bread has gone a little hard. He sighs to the polka dot plant sitting on his desk and cracks his fingers.</p><p>He aches. His muscles and his eyes are straining. His brain is overworked and his stomach is in knots. As he pops his neck he almost misses the open-and-close of the front door. Millicent hops out of her cat bed and pads off lazily like she usually does when going to greet someone by the door. Hux blinks and turns back to his laptop, he’s — <em> not </em>— angry.</p><p>There’s footsteps all the way to the study and he doesn’t have to turn around to find out who they belong to, the heavy <em> thud </em>of Docs echoing through the space. After a moment of silence between the two of them, Hux’s fingers hover over the trackpad and he doesn’t pretend he’s going to use it, spinning around to see Ren, bulking frame somehow not taking up the whole doorway.</p><p>He’s dressed in a more rumpled version of his clothes from last night and, if he got into some kind of fight, he doesn't show any signs of being beaten. He probably did end up on Rey’s sofa then because the bags underneath his eyes aren’t <em> too </em>dark and there’s a slight dampness to his hair like he had a shower before dragging himself back there, no doubt with his tail between his legs if his downcast eyes have anything to say about it. </p><p>“You’re back,” Hux says instead of nothing. </p><p>“I am,” Ren says and he doesn’t sound as frustrated as last night, but there’s still an edge to his voice.</p><p>They both look and sound tired and cranky. There’s frustration etched deep into their expressions, and neither of them looks like they want to be there in that current moment. Hux wants Phasma to magically intervene again and Ren wants the ground to swallow him whole. They wait, Millicent squeezing her way past Ren’s legs to go who-knows-where and Hux is certain she can feel the tension in the room. Hux’s laptop <em> pings </em>with a notification. “Sorry,” Ren eventually says and it’s a tone that Hux can’t quite parse as he struggles to make eye contact with anything other than his boots.</p><p>Hux rests his head on a balled-up fist, leaning an elbow against the arm of his desk chair. He crosses one leg over the other and, usually, there’s a shift in the air. But it doesn’t come this time, the tension not snapping in Hux’s favour like it typically does. “Are you?” Hux asks, sounding like he’s being drowned in bone-deep exhaustion. </p><p>“I am,” Ren says, “are you?”</p><p>“No,” Hux replies. He’s never been one to be sorry for anything he’s done, an imperfect man incapable of making mistakes. Or something like that. He doesn’t focus too much on anything that could be considered a failure, the idea of ever needing to apologise snuffed out of him very early on in his life. “Should I be?”</p><p>Ren manages to meet Hux’s face, “yeah, I think so”.</p><p>“Then I’m sorry for owning an entire company, Ben,” Hux says.</p><p>There’s a rising flush to Ren’s cheeks and the tips of those silly ears and Hux knows there’s a frustration building inside of him. He knows because he’s watched quiz shows with Ren when he knows the answers and the contestants don’t. He knows this because he’s been there when Ren’s answered calls from Organa. He knows because he’s experienced Ren, intimately, his entire everything offered up with little hesitation. Ren is a man of emotions and feelings, laid-bare and unfiltered. He thinks from the heart and not the brain and Hux couldn’t think of anything worse. “Why are you always <em> fucking </em>like this?” Ren asks, and there’s anger seeping into the defeat.</p><p>“Like what?” Hux replies because he’s always been one to poke the bee’s nest.</p><p>“So, so, so,” Ren stutters as he tries to find his words, “so — <em> patronising”. </em></p><p>Hux wants to snort at the word: <em> patronising. </em> He’s half surprised that Ren even knows the word and he’s even more surprised that he’s only now using it to describe Hux. “I’m a grown adult; a very successful grown adult. This is less about me being <em> patronising,” </em>a mocking tone dripping from the word, “and more about you being an immature child who’s still not used to getting everything he wants”.</p><p>“It’s not like that,” Ren says through clenched teeth.</p><p>Hux doesn’t roll his eyes but he’s very close to it, “then what’s it like,<em> Ben?” </em></p><p>Ren stops trying to stare down Hux’s unfazed expression, the blankness only serving to frustrate him more, and instead glowers at the floorboards beneath his feet. Beneath his boots — thick-soled and heavy and perfect for kicking a hole square in the walls of Hux’s apartment. “Stop it,” he says and it’s nowhere near as demanding as he wishes it was.</p><p>“Stop what?” Hux’s tone makes it sound like he’s a cat who got the cream.</p><p>“Stop it, stop,” Ren struggles out, twitching fingers clenching into fists at his sides, “just stop”.</p><p>“Me, stop? It was <em> you </em> who came back into <em> my </em>house making demands for apologies you aren’t owed,” Hux says; call him an antagonist but he just wants to see how far he can push Ren before he crumbles.  </p><p>Those fists continue to tighten by Ren’s sides, <em> “I hate you,” </em>he says with the same venom that’s usually reserved for disrespecting news segments about Organa. </p><p>Hux eyes him with measured disinterest, eyes holding an undefined displeasure as he unballs his fist to rest his chin in the flat of his palm; more comfortable, somehow more condescending. The mood still doesn’t shift in his favour but there’s a security to being in his wheelhouse. There’s nothing in his tone to suggest anything other than indifference when he says, “then leave”.</p><p>The second the words leave Hux’s mouth, Ren’s eyes snap forward, dark and angry and brimming with emotions. Hux can’t quite see from his seat, but there might be tears beginning to well up in the corners. Sadness, anger, frustration, he doesn’t know but it looks like it would feel like a lot. “What?” Ren asks, the word is wobbly but not weak.</p><p>“If you hate me so much,” Hux says with deliberate slowness, “then you can just go. I have no need for you if that’s going to be your attitude”. The threat of being easily replaceable has always been one Hux has loomed over Ren’s head, easily mentioning how disposable he is to Hux; but the remarks usually only said in the bedroom, and the quickness and finality that Hux uses them now makes it feel impossibly real.</p><p>And maybe he should have seen it coming, thinking and knowing and planning are Hux’s greatest skills and, in a momentary lapse of judgement — because he’s too caught up in himself —, he failed to think about the unpredictable actions of a barely-grown man who's not used to getting his own way. He had hoped to see Ren crumble in on himself, broken and sorry and begging for forgiveness like how Hux always manages to make him. He didn’t get that, instead Ren <em> snapped </em>— a violent thing of yelling incoherent shouts, a fist straight through the study’s door as strands of damp hair falling from the loose half-bun on Ren’s head, the pictures on the wall rattle as Ren slams into them and books are torn off the shelves. Ren looks like a man possessed and, while he’s worried about the pain of having to get the holes in the walls fixed, Hux can’t help but enjoy this unhinged Ren he’s never gotten to see before. A horribly stilted family photo lands just short of Hux feet, the silver frame and polished glass shattering to pieces. Ren could’ve very easily hit Hux square in the face with it, but he didn’t. He’s unsure about whether or not the action was intentional or not but Hux isn’t interested in seeing any more damage done to his study to find out.</p><p>“That’s enough,” he says, stern and forceful but not yelling, as he stands. Screaming never helps and Hux tries to avoid shouting whenever he can. A solid strictness is something that people can often bow to, but the anger of a yeller makes someone an unbearable man that no one particularly listens to — let alone respect. Ren doesn’t throw the book he currently has only by the hardcover front but he doesn’t set it down either. The broad expense of his chest is heaving and his reddened face is heavy with tear tracks and framed by the unruly hairs that fell from its sloppy bun.</p><p>He had heard of Ren’s infamous outbursts, seen a few on the news and huffs about them when he reads about them in the morning paper. Childish temper tantrums because, even as an adult, he’s never learnt how to control his emotions or use his words. As much as Hux has heard of them, he had yet to see one before now. There’s an odd beauty to seeing one — <em> one that he had caused </em> — that he can’t quite place, a fascination that might fall into the vein of finally seeing a side of Ren he hasn’t seen first-hand before; a twisting thought about whether or not the man who begs pretty-please with misty eyes for a chance to stay at Hux’s side or if the beast in front of him is the <em> true Ben </em>makes Hux’s heart surge in an unmatchable way.</p><p>“Go over there,” he says, pointing to a corner between a bookshelf and doorway which usually houses a large braided money tree, potted in a stilted planter, and now a disgruntled Ren. The book gets abandoned on the bookshelf and he stands facing the wall, leaves of the plant tickling his face. “Now stay”.</p><p>And he does stay, stock-still and ridged, while Hux sits himself back down at his desk, back facing Ren, and reopens his work. Another round of meaningless Emails to his workers and one to a local plasterer to do something about the holes in the wall and door fills a few moments. He has half the mind to place Ren facing one of his mistakes but decides against it. Eventually, all the superficial Emails have been emptied from his inbox and the only few that remain are ones that can be left for Monday when he gets back into the office. By the time he re-stretches his aching body and the adrenaline of Ren’s anger has left his body, almost thirty minutes have passed and he has to get a move on with the rest of the night — Millicent probably getting hungry for dinner.</p><p>Turning in his chair, Hux takes a moment to stare down Ren’s back — he’s shifting the weight between his legs, no doubt sore and full of pins and needles below the knees. Hux can’t see his hands, but he assumes that they’re twisting in the front of his creased shirt like he usually does when he feels guilty. His face is down-cast and, now that he’s stopped typing, Hux can hear the soft sniffles from the corner. He smiles gently to himself, “come here,” he says, gentle but without room for defiance. </p><p>It takes a moment for Ren to comply, but he slowly pulls himself from the corner, sore legs up-rooting from the floor. His eyes are rimmed red and there’s tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, they’re still slightly flushed from annoyance but the colour has lessened slightly. He's still shaking slightly as he moves closer to Hux. Maybe it’s because he knows better or maybe it’s because he needs to get off his feet, but Ren kneels down in the space between Hux’s knees, his hands are twisting in his shirt and eyes downcast to the floor in front of him. “I— ‘m sorry,” he says to Hux’s ankles, voice rough.</p><p> “What are you sorry for, Ben?” Hux asks.</p><p>“I got angry, I yelled at you,” Ren replies, voice unsure about if what he’s saying is right or not, “I failed you”.</p><p>Hux hooks a finger underneath Ren’s chin, forcing him to lock eyes as Hux smirks down at him, “you didn’t fail me, you failed yourself,” he says and Ren doesn’t ask Hux what it means, but it still somehow stings more, “for me, you’ve been perfect”. Pushing some of Ren’s hair from his tear-slick face, watery eyes stare back at Hux, worship and euphoria shining deeply in unshed tears.</p><p>Hux leans down and presses his lips against Ren’s. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tellonym user: tellonym.me/sanmyshuno</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>